


Lost In Emotion

by AZombieWrites (EgorStandish)



Category: Lost in Space (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1906176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgorStandish/pseuds/AZombieWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragged down into a deep hole by the black dog of depression, Don West struggles to maintain a facade of his former self, but when Doctor Smith causes more harm and injury, West loses control, his facade crumbling in front of everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** This story deals with depression and suicidal thoughts. 
> 
> **Written** for 10_hurt_comfort over on LiveJournal.
> 
>  **Prompt:** Emotion

Unbearable heat, thick and heavy, dominated everything and everyone. Emotions ran high and low, nerves frayed, personalities clashing. Crammed into the Jupiter 2, the hatch to the outside world closed, bodies struggled to find an area that wouldn’t suffocate or irritate. 

Personal space difficult to find, Major Don West found solace in the space pod; body slumped against its door, knees drawn toward his chest, grateful for the momentary peace and quiet. He tilted his head back, a soft thud sounding when the back of his head hit the door. Closing his eyes, Don let his mind drift and his mood wander. He had no idea what was wrong, only that something wasn’t right. 

An ache, heavy and strong, now lived deep in his chest and nothing he tried would shift it or relieve it; a physical aliment he couldn’t diagnose. Smith was a doctor but Don refused to subject himself to Smith’s personality, worried the doctor’s traits would cause him to react, not only physically but also emotionally, in a way that would differ from his normal reactions, alerting everyone else that something was wrong. 

He’d been too emotional lately, part of his problem. The anger and the frustration no longer there, instead replaced by something that worried him, scared him. He felt low and unmotivated, drowning in a sea of emotions he’d never experienced before, his way lost, unable to find the shore. 

Don took a deep breath, the ache in his chest growing, the grip it held so strong he refused to deflate his lungs, fearful something was about to break. He waited, lungs struggling, the pain finally easing. Breath released, he raised his hands, covering his face. His thoughts stalled, unwilling to admit that deep down, somewhere in his subconscious, he knew what was wrong.

A knock on the door, a soft voice calling his name. Don considered ignoring her, waiting a moment to see if she would leave. She was persistent, knocking louder when he didn’t answer. He still waited, unsure if he wanted to talk, to share his solitude. His support suddenly gone, Don fell back, head smacking against the floor. He grimaced in pain, hand rubbing the back of his head.

“Hey you,” said Judy Robinson, her smile genuine.

“Hi,” said Don, laying still, lacking the motivation to do the simplest of things; get up.

“You’re in hiding?”

He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t lie to her, “Yes.”

“Mind if I join you?”

He couldn’t say no.

“Sure.”

Judy stepped over him, moving gracefully into the pod. She sat down and tucked her legs beneath her, “Are you going to stay there, or come back in?”

He forced himself upright, shifting his body so he sat opposite her. Reaching upward, fingers stumbling over the handle, he pulled the door closed, shutting them away from the outside world, her family. Drawing his legs back up toward his chest, Don laid his forearms on his knees, interlacing his fingers. Allowing his head to fall back, his gaze found the roof of the pod. He knew he was hiding himself from Judy but she knew him too well, able to read him like an open book; in front of her, he always wore his emotions on his sleeve.

Watching him, her gaze now anxious, Judy reached forward, her own fingers gripping his, her touch gentle, her concern visible, “Are you okay?”

His response succinct, “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it,” said Judy.

“No.”

She nodded, “Still feel the same?”

“Yes.”

“Don, you really should talk to Doctor Smith. He could help you.”

“Smith’s a quack,” said Don. “He couldn’t diagnose a cold if it coughed in his face.”

“There’s the man I know and love,” said Judy, a smile drifting across her features.

Don lowered his eyes, his gaze finding hers and in a voice cracking with emotion, said, “Not anymore.”

.  
.  
.

As the days passed, the ache in his chest grew stronger, his mood collapsing even further. He was in a hole so deep, the walls lacking any grip, falling and slipping back down every time he tried to crawl out; each fall more painful than the last. Something held onto him, pulling him down, its weight too heavy to carry on shoulders already burdened.

It became a charade, Don West keeping up the pretence that everything was right in his world. He smiled when expected, laughed when it was appropriate and argued with Smith, his retorts lacking their usual malice, all in the hope that no one would notice that something was wrong. It was a physical effort that left him exhausted and his nerves on edge. 

Unable to sleep, exhaustion a sleeping pill that didn’t work, Don dragged his body from his bed, dressed and made his way to the upper deck. His feet dragging, his shoulders slumped, head hung low, he pressed the button to open the hatch that led to the outside world, still dark. Uninterested in his surroundings, he walked to the chariot, the vehicle in need of repair. He turned on the industrial lamp, illuminating the front of the chariot. Don lay down on his back, finding the flashlight and toolbox, dragging them along as he found his usual place beneath the vehicle. So much work. 

Closing his eyes, he took a breath, a moment. Alone, he didn’t have to hide; he could allow himself to feel the single dominating emotion that had been cramping his chest for several weeks. Melancholy his mother had called it, the affliction that had ailed his grandfather. As a child, he hadn’t understood but now...

Fear gripped his heart, stopping his breath in his throat. His eyes snapped open. Unwilling to visit the past, he pushed the painful memory to the side. The answer was obvious but he didn’t want to travel that road, refusing to acknowledge that his grandfather’s past may become Don West’s future.

His heart not in it, he began working on the chariot, once again fixing a faulty air-conditioning unit; the amount of times it had broken, he’d lost count. Time passed, the minutes lazy, daylight drifting toward and eventually past the chariot. Soon the others would be joining him, calling him to breakfast, and the charade would begin again. 

“Don?”

Sooner than he’d expected.

Not answering would be rude, lack of response hurtful. 

“Will,” said Don, pushing his way out from beneath the chariot. His smile forced, he stood up, standing over the boy. “You’re up early.”

“Dad wanted us to get a head start,” said Will, bending over and looking at the undercarriage of the chariot. “Air-conditioning unit?”

“Again,” said Don, nodding, wiping his hands with a dirty rag. “A head start on what?”

Will stood up and frowned, “We’re all heading out to the new drill site this morning. You didn’t forget did you?”

“No,” said Don, hoping Will didn’t catch his lie.

They’d had the family meeting last week, a discussion that concluded with John Robinson deciding the trip to the new drill site would involve everyone, including Doctor Smith. A family vacation, he had said. Mind jumbled, emotions controlling his thoughts, Don had forgotten they were leaving today, Will’s reminder jarring him. 

Will put his hands on his hips, his face turning serious, and said, “What’s wrong?”

Don paused, his heart pounding, his forced expression falling beneath the realization that Will had seen through his false facade. 

“Is it the cooling system?”

Looking away, hiding his features, Don said, “I’m not sure. I think I’ve lost the knack of fixing things.”

“Do you want me to have a look?”

“Sure,” said Don, turning back. “Knock yourself out, Will.”

Will smiled, grin so wide the ache in Don’s chest pulsed, beating in time with his heart. Lifting his hand, Don rubbed at his chest, heel of his palm pressing deep, the action painful. It didn’t help. He felt a hint of guilt, jealous of Will’s ability to be so . . . cheerful. When Will disappeared under the chariot, Don turned and lent back against the vehicle, folded his arms and lowered his head. He could hear Will tinkering, muttering to himself. Don smiled, the expression overcoming his features with ease; the kid was a mechanical genius.

.  
.  
.

Breakfast was . . . difficult. 

The pretence of being excited about the trip was tiring. All around him, voices full of cheer and excitement grated on his nerves, rubbing them raw. Inner turmoil wanted them to stop, to grow quiet, sombre, much like his own mood but he couldn’t dampen their joy. They got very little of it these days, always wary of trouble, danger, lives at risk every day.

Even Smith, usually adamant, had agreed without argument to go on the ‘family vacation’, citing a change of scenery was good for the heart and soul. Don wasn’t so sure, knowing he would feel the same way in any location, the ache travelling with him, sticking close . . . too close.

Stabbing at a lump of scrambled egg, Don pushed the food around his plate, memorized, his thoughts drifting. Beneath the table, Judy held his left hand, squeezing it when she felt it necessary; her support was his only comfort in an emotionally dark world. He wanted to get up, walk away, hide himself from prying eyes and curious words.

When Judy squeezed his hand harder than necessary, he looked up. Those prying eyes stared at him, expressions questioning him. He glanced at Judy, his own expression asking her a question but her gaze was elsewhere. She was looking at her father. Question answered.

“Sorry, John,” said Don. “I was thinking about the trip.”

It wasn’t a lie. He was worried, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hide, his facade requiring more time and energy when huddled together around a campfire. He didn’t want to go but he couldn’t stay. There would be no reason that would allow him to stay, any excuse picked apart, scrutinized and questioned. He had no choice but to go.

“You look worried,” said John.

Not a statement, a question and Don knew that John Robinson expected an answer. A lie was required, one that would satisfy and subdue any further questions.

“The air-conditioning unit on the chariot,” said Don.

“The one you were supposed to fix last week in preparation for our trip today?”

“Yeah, that one,” said Don, pausing, unsure how to go on. 

He couldn’t think. His mind, usually focused, intelligent . . . he just couldn’t think anymore, concentration lacking, thought process focused on one thing only. His heart began to beat faster, pounding against his ribcage, an animal attempting an escape. His ribcage held firm, the ache in his chest growing.

Will stepped in, saving Don from embarrassment and explanation.

“It was acting up again. I fixed it,” said Will, his shoulders straightening with pride. “I bet Don is worried about it breaking down again . . . again.”

Everyone laughed, Don forcing himself to react.

Doctor Smith, eyes sparkling with intent, said, “Dear William, if it weren’t for you we would all be travelling in this dreadful heat without respite.”

“Need I remind you, Smith,” said Don, snatching the words from a mind heavy with doubt. “The chariot’s air-conditioning unit is usually broken because you take vital parts to satisfy your own selfish needs.”

“Indeed,” said Smith. 

“That’s enough,” said John. “Don, I want you to make sure the chariot is in working order. I don’t want it breaking down on us at a crucial time.”

“But dad,” said Will. “I fixed it.”

John looked at his son, “I’m sure you did, son, but I want Don to check it. Make sure it’s working.”

Will, looking despondent, looked down at his empty plate and said, “Yes, sir.”

Don knew how Will felt. The boy’s ability questioned, doubted. Don felt his own confidence drop every time someone questioned his ability, poisonous barbs – as Smith called them – piercing his soul, causing it to bleed. Self-doubt filled him, now unsure of himself, his own inner voice sending his confidence into a downward spiral.

He had to keep the charade going.

“Why don’t you show me what you did, Will,” said Don. “I’m sure I’ll mark your workings with an A plus.”

Grin wide, Will nodded, “Sure. We can do it now.”

John shook his head, Will’s smile infectious, and said, “Let the man finish his breakfast first. Then you can get to work.”

“It’s fine, John,” said Don.

He squeezed Judy’s hand, smiling at her when she looked at him. She smiled back at him and nodded. Don stood up and walked around the table, past Will and toward the Chariot, calling back over his shoulder, “Come on, Will. No lazing about.”

Will jumped out of his seat, running after Don, catching up and passing him.

Don let him go, in no hurry to catch up.

.  
.  
.

Maureen Robinson watched as Don walked away. His shoulders were slumped, his gate awkward. She knew something was wrong but couldn’t determine what was bothering their pilot. Sure that it was something more than worry over their planned trip, she looked toward her husband, noting that he too wore an expression of concern.

“Penny,” said Maureen, “could you start clearing away the dishes, please.”

Penny nodded and stood up, gathering her plate and her brother’s. She moved around the table, hesitating at Don’s plate, the food barely touched, “Mother...”

“Yes, dear.”

“Is there something wrong with Don?”

Maureen smiled. Penny, always inquisitive had also noticed that something was wrong, “I’m sure he’s fine. Now, go on and clear the table. Doctor Smith, why don’t you help?”

“Madam, even a plate is too delicate for my aching back,” said Smith.

John Robinson stood up, “Smith!”

Smith obliged, gathering an armload of dishes and walking quickly into the Jupiter, Penny not far behind.

Alone with their eldest daughter, John and Maureen gathered their thoughts. Maureen was unsure where to start; unaware of how touchy Judy would be in the discussion of Don West. The best thing, she decided, was to be direct. A straight question might result in a straight answer.

“Judy,” said Maureen. “What’s really bothering Don?”

John, allowing his wife to take the lead, sat back in his seat, his gaze steady, his posture authoritative, ready to intervene when necessary.

Judy, body shifting with guilt, shook her head, “He’s just tired. Worried about the trip.”

Maureen glanced at her husband, “We don’t think so. There’s something else. And please, be truthful with us.”

“He really is worried about the trip. If the chariot breaks down or the air-conditioning unit stops working, we’ll be stuck out there in this heat. Honestly, mother, he’s just worried. I’m sure when the trip is over he’ll be back to his normal self.”

There it was. An answer that wasn’t very straight . . . but it was enough to satisfy Maureen Robinson and her husband. 

John nodded, “I’ve been worried about trip too but it has to be done. We need to gather enough deutronium to get off this planet and the way things have been going lately, I don’t want to leave anyone here, especially Doctor Smith. That man draws trouble like--”

“Won’t he bring trouble with us?” said Judy. “Maybe we should leave him behind.”

Maureen frowned. So unlike Judy; usually she stood up for Doctor Smith, it didn’t matter what he’d done, who had been injured as a result of his carelessness.

“No,” said John. “If we leave Smith here, he’ll order the robot to stay with him and we’re going to need the robot. Besides, if we leave them both behind, what will we come back to? Another holiday resort?”

Maureen smiled and noticed that her daughter’s mirrored expression was forced. Something nagged at her, a small voice telling her to keep a watchful eye on their pilot. She would obey, motherly instinct strong; Don West, not her son, but she felt the need to take care of him as if he were her own. 

.  
.  
.

They set up camp at the base of a rock formation large enough to block out the afternoon sun, the new drill site a few hundred yards away. Four tents had been set up, Will deciding he would bunk with Don. Don didn’t understand Will’s decision, the boy always preferring to bunk with his second best friend, Doctor Smith. He couldn’t argue. Will’s enthusiasm would be difficult to bare but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t shut the kid out. 

When things settled, the camp work complete, a simple but warm lunch was set out on the table. Don wasn’t hungry or interested, Judy dragging him to a seat at the table. Letting them think he was worried gave him a small bit of leeway, allowing him to drop his guard, if only for a short time. The pretence not taking as much effort, the act less tiring. He forced himself to eat; unaware of the concerned glances sent his way. He stayed quiet, not wanting to talk, answering only when expected. Finishing the meal quickly, he gave his thanks before explaining that he should get started on the drill site. Don stood up and walked away, Judy mirroring his moves, his explanation.

John, Will, the Robot and Doctor Smith – on John Robinson’s orders – quickly followed, leaving a worried Maureen and Penny behind.

Don worked on the drill site quietly, slowly, the heat and exhaustion sapping his strength. Judy followed his every move, always two steps behind him. He didn’t mind, drawing strength from her but he knew her father was suspicious; his constant glances telling Don that John knew something was wrong, that it might not be a simple case of worry. Until John confronted him with his suspicions, Don would say nothing, keeping his secret to himself, Judy his only confidant. 

Smith as always, a hindrance, causing more problems than not, the work taking longer, until John finally listened to the man’s insistent need to rest and allow his back to recuperate. Smith had since sat under the shade on a rock a few feet away watching everyone else work.

Judy stepped away, picking up the container of water and a cup, making her way around the site, offering water and little else. When she reached Don, she took his hand, pressing the cup into his palm.

“Drink this,” said Judy. “And please, take a break. You must be exhausted.”

He knew not to argue, Judy the only thing keeping him going. She took his other hand, leading him to a small out cropping, pushing him down. Unwilling to let him go, Judy sat down beside Don, keeping her words to herself, wanting him to lead the conversation.

Don looked toward Judy’s father, catching him taking another glance, his expression one of concern, “Your father knows something’s wrong.”

“And mother,” said Judy.

He turned toward her, Judy’s face so close he could feel her warm breath on his skin, “You spoke to them?”

She nodded, “This morning. They asked me if I knew what was bothering you.”

Don drank from the cup, the moment allowing him to gather his thoughts, his fears, “What did you tell them?”

“That you were worried about the trip,” said Judy, smiling, assuring him. “I also told them you were tired.”

“Did they believe you?”

Judy glanced toward her father before turning back to Don, “I thought so. But I’m not so sure now.”

He nodded, keeping quiet, unsure what to say.

“Being tired will give you an excuse to turn in early tonight. If you don’t want company that is?”

“You or Will?” said Don.

“I can ask him to stay with Doctor Smith.”

“No. The kid will get suspicious.”

“Penny’s worried also.”

Surprised, Don looked at her, “I thought I was doing okay. Hiding everything.”

Judy squeezed his hand, “It’s not something you can hide, not unless you’ve had a lot of practice.”

“My grandfather was good at it . . . most of the time.”

“Your grandfather?” said Judy.

“I better get back to work.”

Judy refused to let him go, “Don, your grandfather had the same affliction?”

There was that word again. Affliction. He didn’t like to use it, the word an indication that something was seriously wrong. He wasn’t going down that road. Pulling his hand from her grip, he walked away, joining John, Will and the Robot at the drill.

“Everything all right?” said John, glancing up over his shoulder at Don.

Don bent over, hands on his knees, eyes staring into the drill hole, “Everything’s fine.”

“Uh huh.”

He wasn’t going to push it, shutting his mouth against the words that wanted to tumble out.

“Judy doesn’t look happy,” said Will, pulling his gaze away from his sister. He looked across at Don, “Did you two have an argument?”

“Something like that,” said Don.

Will shook his head, not understanding, too young, “Girls.”

The work continued on, the heat of the day abating, the cooler temperature making things easier. The only sound, the drill and Doctor Smith’s complaints, his voice aggravating, his words irritating. Anger that he hadn’t felt in a long time was beginning to churn in Don’s gut, body and mind welcoming the much missed emotion. Judy’s close attendance kept his tempter at a manageable level. If it weren’t for the overriding emotion of something dark, foreboding, the ache that had settled in his chest . . . he could have told himself he’d felt better than he had in long time.

John stood up, stretching his back, grimacing, “We’re ready for the explosives.”

“I’ll get them,” said Will, eager to move, just waiting for his father’s permission.

Shaking his head, John said, “I think it’s about time Doctor Smith did some work.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Don. “He’s likely to blow himself up and the rest of us with him.”

“I think Doctor Smith can manage a stroll, and the bag isn’t heavy.”

Don shook his head in frustration, his lips thinning as he clenched his jaw. Throwing up his arms in surrender, he gave in, “Sure. Why not. Who wants to live to a ripe old age of ninety-two? Go ahead. Send Smith.”

“Don.”

Judy’s soft voice tore at his heart. He lowered his head, reaching up and rubbing his hands through his hair leaving a mess of spikes angled in different directions. Taking a deep breath, his anger settled, the dark emotion trespassing on the edges of his vision. He felt faint, dizzy, ready to collapse. He’d been working too hard, not enough rest, very little nourishment. He had to stop. Walking away, he sat down on the ground, leaning back against a rock, closing his eyes against the world and everything in it. How much longer could he keep this up?

“Will,” said John. “Go and get the bag of explosives. Take the good Doctor with you.”

The Robot turned its upper body, lights flashing, “I will go with Will Robinson to keep a watchful eye on Doctor Smith.”

“You do that,” said John.

Pulling his worried gaze away from Don, Will and the Robot walked toward Smith, waking the man from a sudden case of ‘falling asleep syndrome’. John waited patiently, watching as his daughter walked slowly toward Don. Judy knelt down next to Don, whispering his name.

He couldn’t hide. They wouldn’t let him. He opened his eyes and lowered his head, gaze taking in Judy’s worried features. Behind the worried expression . . . she was scared. For him? Of him? He couldn’t be sure. Not anymore. He could feel the ache in his chest turn sharp, his breathing becoming difficult.

“I’m sorry,” said Don.

“It’s okay. It’s nice to see some of that anger come back.”

He whispered, tone grateful, “I couldn’t do this without you.”

His mood becoming calm, Don watched as John walked toward him. Best to jump in with an explanation, a lie to cover his current condition . . . stay off that road. Don stood up, the movement too quick, his body tilting toward the woman he loved. She took his elbow in a strong grip, keeping him steady, on his feet. He couldn’t help but notice that John had noticed.

“I’m sorry,” said Don, stepping forward, showing a facade he had difficulty keeping. “It’s the heat, that’s all.”

“If you can’t do this,” said John, hands on his hips. “Tell me now.”

“Do what?”

“If you’re sick--”

A good an explanation as any . . .

“He’s not sick, dad,” said Judy.

Don couldn’t get angry. She thought she was helping.

“Don’s had a long day. He’s tired and the heat isn’t helping.”

“We’ve all had a long day, Judy. It’s no excuse.”

“I’m not making excuses,” said Judy. “You work him too hard.”

Don took her arm, his touch soft, “It’s okay, Judy. Your dad’s right.”

“Not this time.”

Surprised, Don pulled Judy away from her father, out of earshot. He leant in close, her hair brushing softly against his face, the smell of her shampoo calming him, “You’re going to say something you’ll regret.”

“He can’t treat you this way,” said Judy.

“It’s better than him knowing the truth.”

“Is it? I think you should tell him. He might be able to help.”

An emotional slap in the face, Don stepped back, away from Judy, “No.”

“Don, it was only a suggestion. If you don’t want to tell him . . . it’s okay.”

Wiping his hands on the back of his trousers, Don nodded before turning away, making his way back to the drill. He stopped short, the expression on John’s face halting his steps. The man was angry. Not sure what to do, but knowing he wasn’t ready for a confrontation, Don continued moving, stepping past John, stopping once again at the drill. He reached out, taking a firm grip on the three-pod structure supporting the drill, the metal tubing a crutch to keep him upright, his body ready to collapse.

He was so tired, his emotional battle taking everything he had and more. If only he could find a dark corner, hide in its comfort until he felt better. A small part of him wanted to be honest, to tell John Robinson the truth. But what then? Would they cradle him in cotton wool, taking care of his every need? Bombard him with him humour in the hope it would cheer him up? Would they look at him differently, treat him differently . . . would they think he was crazy? No. He had to keep going with the charade, no matter how taxing it was on his physical and emotional well-being.

“Don?”

“I’m just tired,” said Don, refusing to look at John. “I’m sure it’s the heat.”

“If you need a break,” said John, “take one. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

Don turned his gaze toward John and said, “No excuses, remember.”

A confrontation he didn’t want.

But John surprised him.

“I’m sorry,” said John, stepping closer to Don. “Judy’s right. I have been pushing you too hard. Both Maureen and I have noticed you haven’t been yourself. You and Judy go back to the camp. Will and I can manage.”

It would be an easy thing to do but it would also be admittance that something was wrong. As much as he wanted to find that dark corner, he knew if found, he would never leave it.

“No, it’s fine,” said Don. “We’re almost finished.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

John looked like he wanted to say more, hesitating before moving away. Don watched him go, envying the man’s ability to stay so strong in a world full of danger, the threat of death always there . . . waiting for its turn. 

The idea sat on the edge of his soul. The thought of . . . death. It would take away the pain, the ache in his chest, relieving him of a burden he no longer wanted to carry . . .

Realization dawned on Don. He was losing the will to live. Judy, his only reason to keep fighting an exhausting battle he was sure he could no longer win. The morbid thought caused the ache in his chest to grow, the weight of the emotion heavy, his back bending. He wanted to give in. Give up.

A soft touch at his elbow drew his attention, pulling him back from a road he’d begun to travel.

More than anything, he wanted to draw her close, wrap his arms around her and never let go. He wanted to apologise, tell her of his thoughts, his fears, his grandfather. The sound of Smith’s voice snapped his head up, gaze finding the man who had once been able to set Don’s anger on edge; no more, the sight of Smith dragging his feet, his expression of outrage, his voiced complaints did nothing to Don’s mood, it’s level drifting further down.

Looking at Judy, Don whispered that it was okay. It was a lie, not yet wanting to reveal his true feelings. He hadn’t told her everything, only enough for her to understand that he wasn’t feeling himself; his mood low, no longer cheerful, his need for solitude strong. He didn’t admit the truth, not wanting to admit it to himself. He was depressed. His biggest fear; depression had taken his grandfather’s life and now, it may take Don West’s.

“We’ll talk later,” said Judy.

He nodded in agreement, not actually sure if he would tell her his thoughts, worried she would tell her parents, sure that if they knew how bad he was feeling, they would lock him away in his cabin, making sure all sharp instruments were removed. Walking away, he joined John a short distance from the drill, waiting for Smith, Will and the Robot. 

They moved slowly, Smith in no hurry to return to work, the bag of explosives held away from his body. It happened before Don could do anything to stop it, Smith stopping in mid-stride, throwing the bag of explosives.

“There,” said Smith. “I hoped you’re satisfied. My back. Oh the pain. The pain.”

This was why he had argued against Smith . . .

The Robot became agitated, arms flailing, warning system out of control, “Warning! Warning! Danger! Explosion imminent!”

Already aware of the danger, Don and John ran toward Judy, who stood too close, her life threatened.

The bag landed against the edge of the hole containing the drill, some of its contents falling out, enough to cause an explosion if it fell into the working drill hole. Don didn’t wait to find out, drawing close to Judy but not close enough.

The explosion was deafening, its concussion throwing him to the ground, his breath ripped from his lungs. His heart, beating too fast, pounded within his chest, his fear strong. The only sound, a ringing in his ears . . . Judy.

Forcing himself up onto hands and knees, Don’s gaze searched through the settling dust, becoming frantic when he couldn’t find her. He stood up, his balance broken, stumbling as he found his way, his stride short, his steps unsure. 

And then he found her. An unmoving lump of tangled limbs.

No.

No. No, no, no. Please. He shook his head, unable to do anything else, too afraid to move. If Judy were dead . . . his only reason to keep going . . . his world shattered, the pieces sharp, jaded, the dark emotion taking control.

His emotions overwhelming, his voice a soft whisper, “Judy.”


	2. Chapter 2

Don couldn’t move, body frozen with fear and the knowledge that this could be the end of everything. The idea of life without Judy . . . his knees buckled beneath the heavy weight of emotion. Body slumping back toward the ground, his shoulders hunched, Don closed his eyes. He wanted to scream but couldn’t find his voice. Expected tears filling his eyes, Don covered his face with hands trembling with emotion and fear. His shattered world began to crumble. Time stopped, his world turning darker, the hole he was in grew deeper, its edge no longer within his reach.

A hand on his shoulder, the physical touch pulling him forward, John’s voice calling his name. Don pushed John away, the movement violent. Emotion turned to anger. Smith. Don opened his eyes, his vision blurred, gaze searching for the man who had ended his world. Had ended Judy’s world. Don came to a quick decision; this time, Smith wasn’t going to get away with it. He was going to kill him, with his bare hands and then he would let the darkness take him.

The ache in his chest shifted, becoming sharp, driving him forward. Don stood up, legs weak with fatigue and emotion. Turning, he searched for Smith, mind ignoring the sight of John pulling his daughter up into a firm embrace. Smith stood a short distance away, a picture of health, his face an unreadable mask. Don knew what the man was doing. 

Smith was waiting for the outcome of his actions. Waiting to see if Judy were dead or alive. How the cards fell would determine the man’s response, his excuses, his apologies. Don wasn’t going to wait. Judy was dead. Smith was going to . . .

“Don!”

Breath caught in his throat at the sound of her voice, Don’s lungs struggled to take another breath. He stood still, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to turn around and look. He couldn’t believe, be hopeful. Imagination a hurtful thing.

“Don,” said Will.

The young boy tugged at Don’s arm, his hand moving downward, gripping Don’s fingers, squeezing them, “Judy’s okay.”

Knowing Will would never lie to him, Don opened his eyes, turning his head, his body. Judy. His relief was palpable, his shoulders collapsing as the tension fell from his limbs. He couldn’t trust his legs to carry him forward but Will gave him no choice, pulling him toward the woman Don thought he had lost. 

John moved back, stepping out of the way, giving them space . . . privacy. Don dropped to his knees, reaching forward, taking Judy in his arms, face against her neck. He could feel her pulse, her chest move with each breath. She was alive.

“I’m okay,” said Judy, wrapping her arms around Don.

“I thought . . .” A painful sob ripped the words away from him. He squeezed her tight, not wanting to let her go, not wanting to reveal his emotions. He kept his face hidden from curious eyes, waiting until the need to cry in relief was over.

“It’s okay,” said Judy, her voice a whisper, words meant only for Don. “We’re okay.”

Emotions returning to a singular event, the darkness moving back in, Don pulled away, gaze grazing over Judy’s face. He saw the blood, a small cut on her forehead; it could have been a lot worse. He had thought . . . 

“I’m okay.”

He looked into her eyes, “Are you sure?”

“A bit shaken up,” said Judy. “What happened?”

Anger gripped his heart, “Smith is what happened.”

“Help me up.”

He knew she was distracting him, pulling him away from unhealthy thoughts. He stood up, limbs still shaky and pulled Judy up onto her feet. She stumbled, John quickly moving in to help her stay upright, pushing Don out of the way. Don stood by helpless as her father took control of the situation.

John looked over at Don,” We’ll go back to camp. The drill can wait until morning.”

Don nodded, it was all he could think of to do, John moving away, taking Judy with him. Judy glanced back over her shoulder, watching him as he stood still. She stopped, pulling herself free of her father’s embrace. Holding out her hand, she called his name.

Taking a tentative step, his courage growing, Don moved quickly forward, taking her hand. They walked together, John beside his daughter, Will next to Don. The Robot moved in behind them as they passed. Smith kept his distance.

They reached the campsite, Maureen standing at its edge, waiting, an expression of fear and worry on her face. Penny stood beside her, brown eyes wide. Maureen took one glance at her daughter and rushed forward, “What happened? We heard the explosion.”

John took a deep calming breath, “There was an accident. No one was seriously hurt.”

Maureen pulled Judy away from Don, his fingers slipping free of her grip. He didn’t take much notice, John’s words distracting him. Accident? He could feel the anger returning, its strength growing, pushing the dark ache in his chest to the side. Before he could say or do anything, Smith stepped into center of the group.

“It was all my fault,” said Smith, looking at Judy. “My dear, Judy, will you forgive me?”

Don stepped forward; hands clenched, knuckles white, his anger still growing. John reached out, placing an arm in front of Don, stopping his approach.

“This is between Smith and Judy,” said John.

“No,” said Don. “It isn’t.”

Smith, hearing the conversation, turned to John, “It was an accident, Professor Robinson. I meant no harm.”

“Accident!” said Don, stepping closer to Smith, pushing John’s arm away with force when the man tried to keep him in place. “You threw a bag of explosives into a working drill hole.”

“I underestimated my own strength,” said Smith, hands clasped together in front of his body.

“Your own strength! You’re unbelievable, Smith.”

“Take it easy, Don,” said John. “His actions weren’t done with intent.”

Don spun his body around, facing John. “You’re wrong. He knew exactly what he was doing when he threw that bag.”

“I’m sure his purpose wasn’t to throw the explosives into the hole,” said John, facing Smith. “Was it Doctor Smith?”

“Of course not. My aim was off.”

“You shouldn’t have thrown it in the first place,” said Don, turning back toward Smith, moving in, getting in the man’s face, Smith taking a fearful step back. 

“Don,” said John. “That’s enough.”

Not understanding John’s calm attitude, Don’s own anger snapped, taking control of him, his words, turning and walking back to face John, “You may not give a crap when someone gets hurt because of Smith but I do.”

It was a verbal slap in the face, Don hoping the man would retaliate, verbally or physically. He was in the mood for a fight. The effort of keeping his dark emotion hidden collapsing beneath his anger, the new emotion giving him a respite, an opportunity to feel something different.

“I do care,” said John. “I even care about you.”

Don laughed it off, “No. You don’t. He could have killed all of us. He could have killed Judy!”

“He didn’t.”

“No,” said Don, looking back over his shoulder at Smith. “If he did, he wouldn’t have lived long enough to come up with an excuse for his actions.”

Will stepped forward, “He didn’t do it on purpose, Don.”

“He never does. Always an excuse, and everyone forgives him,” said Don. “He’s going to keep doing it until he kills someone.”

Maureen lent in close to Judy, “You need to stop him before he says or does something that won’t be easily forgiven.”

Judy glanced quickly at her mother. Moving away, she stepped around Doctor Smith, stopping beside Don. She took his hand, holding it tight, expecting him to turn his attention toward her. He didn’t.

“Doctor Smith,” said Judy. “You will not have my forgiveness. Don is right. This happens too often.”

Pointing his finger at Smith, Don continued, “And I can guarantee you that if you let him near that drill site tomorrow, something else is going to happen.”

John stood quietly, taking a moment before speaking, “How can you be so sure something else will happen?”

“Because something always does,” said Don.

“You wouldn’t do anything to ‘guarantee’ that something would you?”

“I’m not the saboteur around here.”

Maureen moved forward, stepping between the two men, “That’s enough!”

“And I’ve had enough,” said Don, turning and walking away, pulling Judy willingly along behind him.

“Judy!” said John.

Judy stopped, forcing Don to come to a halt as he waited to see what she would do. Was she going to stay with her father? Or stay with him? 

Her words were simple, honest, “Don needs me.”

They walked away, leaving the camp to find solitude with each other.

.  
.  
.

Solitude found, a short distance from the campsite, the large rock formation behind them. They were cool in the shade, huddled together against the rock to keep warm. No words spoken, none needed; each other’s company enough to satisfy. Don had expected someone to come after Judy, drag her back to the camp, his intention to disagree, argue if need be. He couldn’t be alone right now; unsure of what he would do, now afraid of his own actions.

His anger gone, the ache in his chest stronger than it had ever been Don made the decision to tell Judy everything. After his display earlier . . . if he did something to hurt the others, say something that would cut like a knife. He took a long breath, holding it as he gathered his thoughts, the words in his mind jumbled and confused. Start with something simple.

“I’m sorry, Judy.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” said Don. “It’s not. I’m not.”

She shifted out of his embrace but kept close, keeping eye contact, “I know you haven’t told me everything. Are you afraid of what I would think of you?”

“More afraid of what you’ll tell your parents.”

She took both his hands in hers, “Trust me.”

“Even if my life depends on it.”

“Don,” said Judy, “you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring myself. The way I spoke to your father . . .”

“You were angry, Don. You had every right to be. Sometimes, I wish my father would react the same way. He wasn’t angry at all.”

“You don’t always agree with my anger toward Smith,” said Don.

“He really threw the explosives into the drill hole?”

Don nodded, “Yes.”

“I won’t forgive him.”

Head falling forward, chin resting on his chest, Don said, “You should forgive your father. Just because he didn’t get angry--”

“Don,” said Judy, reaching up, fingers of her right hand combing through his hair, making some sense of the spikes he’d created earlier. “Tell me everything.”

.  
.  
.

“What do you think Judy meant,” said Maureen as she set the table for dinner, moving around her husband as she worked. “When she said that Don needed her. He’s been angry before.”

“Not like that,” said John, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“Do you think Judy lied to us this morning?”

“About Don only being worried about the trip. Yes. I’m sure there’s a lot more going on here than we thought.”

Maureen stopped, plate in mid-air, turning to face her husband. “We have to keep him close.”

John nodded, “I agree, Maureen, but we can’t intrude on his privacy.”

“Then we watch him from a short distance,” said Maureen, hesitating before making her way to John, putting her hand on his arm. The feeling she’d had that morning still nagged at her, like a disagreeable mother-in-law. “I have a bad feeling about this, John. Whatever is bothering Don, it must be serious.”

“Judy seems to think so. Have you noticed that she hasn’t left his side since we got here?”

“She’s keeping him close,” said Maureen, hoping she was wrong, but voicing her suspicion, “Could he be sick?”

“I don’t think so,” said John. “Judy would have done something about it if he were.”

“Should we talk to him? He might be honest with us if we sit him down and ask him what’s wrong.”

“If he wanted to tell us, he would have already.”

“Maybe he’s afraid to tell us,” said Maureen. 

“Don?” said John, smiling. “When has Don West ever been afraid?”

“John, he’s afraid of something and whatever it is, it’s eating away at him.”

A strong, sudden urge filled her. She wanted to find that young man, fold him within a motherly embrace and take away his hurts and ailments. But he was a grown man, not one of her children. They would take things carefully, one-step at a time; any wrong move would send him into withdrawal, keeping him from them emotionally and physically. Except he was already doing that. No, keeping their distance wasn’t going to work. She decided; a mother’s approach needed.

“You’re right, darling. We’ll talk to him after dinner.”

“Do you think they’ll come back,” said Maureen.

John frowned, “Why don’t we make sure. Penny! Will!”

When the children responded, running quickly to their father’s side, he knelt down, a hand on each of their arms, “Can you go and find Judy and Don, let them know all is forgiven and dinner is ready.”

Will hesitated, “Don was really angry, Dad.”

“He had a right to be angry, son,” said John. “Go find your sister, bring them back.”

Maureen watched them go, “Who can say no to a child.”

.  
.  
.

“I feel like I’ve been beaten down so many times and I just can’t get back up anymore. I can’t sleep. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to be around your family. I don’t want to talk . . . I just feel like . . .”

He shook his head, turning it away, Judy’s hand falling back into her lap. Closing his eyes against the threat of tears, he took a shaky breath, a hard painful lump in his chest. Breathing became difficult. He needed a moment, but if he stopped now, he would never tell her everything.

“Judy, if it weren’t for you, I don’t think I could go on.”

She moved in, pulling him toward her, embracing him, holding him close. Her left arm across his shoulders, she settled him into a comfortable position, his forehead against her neck, his warm breath against her skin, her other hand against his cheek, his skin warm. Don wrapped his arms around her, if they could stay like this . . .

“You’re my only reason for living,” said Don.

“Oh, Don, why didn’t you tell me sooner? You don’t have to do this alone.”

“My grandfather was sick. Melancholy my mother said.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“I think a proper diagnosis would be depressed.”

“Have you felt this way before?”

He shook his head, “No and I don’t know why I’m feeling like this now. There’s no reason. I can’t explain it.”

“What happened to your grandfather?”

“He took his own life.”

Judy closed her eyes, “Don . . .”

“I’m scared, Judy. I’m scared I’m heading down the same road my grandfather walked all those years ago.”

“What can I do, Don?”

He didn’t know, not having any answers. His mother hadn’t talked much about his grandfather, only giving him and his siblings a short explanation that lacked any real information after his death. If she had told him more, he might have more of an idea of what he could do to drag himself out of the hole he was in. But there was one thing he did know . . .

“Stay with me.”

“Always,” said Judy, holding him tight, her silent tears falling. “Always.”

“I’m just so tired.”

“You’ll be okay, Don. I promise you, everything will be okay.”

Judy glanced up, noticing movement, a human figure. Penny. Her sister stepped forward, her body language awkward, an expression of sadness on her features. Judy shook her head, before nodding toward the camp, telling her sister to leave them alone. Penny turned around; her movements slow before rushing off.

Don felt warm, safe, unwilling to let go of Judy. She had listened to his worst fears, understanding them, understanding him. She would stay with him, keep him safe, protect him. But what would happen if he reached the end of the road? He won’t travel it alone but if he decided to go the same way as his grandfather.

So sure he couldn’t and wouldn’t do anything to harm himself in front of her, Don said. “Don’t leave me alone. I wouldn’t do anything if you were there with me.”

“Not for a second.”

Judy tilted her head, resting it on top of Don’s, feeling him relax, the tension leaving his body. She began to rock him, calming him further. She stroked his cheek, his skin too warm in the cool air. 

“Judy?”

She looked up, her father standing before her. 

Worried John would take their position the wrong way, the man assuming the worst, Don panicked. He sat up, pushing Judy away, hoping she would understand his actions. She did, reaching for him and pulling him back toward her, the distance between them short. He waited for John to explode, fatherly need to protect his daughter strong. 

“Penny came back to the camp crying,” said John. “What did you say to her?”

Don frowned. Penny. 

“Penny wasn’t upset because of anything that was said to her,” said Judy.

John stepped forward, kneeling down in front of Judy and Don, “What’s going on?”

Judy stood up, Don moving with her, “We should go back to camp.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” said John, standing with them.

“I can’t,” said Judy. “But please, trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Don couldn’t look at either of them, keeping his head low, his gaze downward. His heart clenched with pride at Judy’s show of support, not relaying his words and his fears, keeping her father in the dark. He knew the day would come when he was going to have to tell John and Maureen but it wouldn’t be today and for that, he was grateful.

Judy led the way back to camp, her posture confident, assured. Don had put his life in her hands and he hoped, with every ounce of his being, that he had done the right thing. Judy would save him, drag him kicking and screaming from the hole he was in, he was sure of it, confident she would save his life, his sanity.  
.  
.  
.

Dinner was . . . awkward, everybody silent, not a word spoken. Food barely touched, Don not the only one without an appetite. He knew all eyes were on him. He couldn’t hide anymore. They knew something was wrong, they just didn’t know what. His mind had shut down, no longer able to carry on with his charade. If it weren’t for Judy . . . 

Time was short and soon questions would start. Questions he wasn’t yet ready to answer. He struggled to find a solution, an answer to cause them to keep their distance. They were getting too close. Lifting his head, his gaze travelled the table, the others quickly looking away, Penny the only one holding his stare. She smiled, her expression hesitant, gentle. Not able to hurt her feelings, he smiled back before shifting his gaze, searching for and finding Judy. 

Judy was watching him. He sought the injury on her forehead, now clean, taken care of by her mother, the small cut surrounded by a colourful bruise. He felt guilty for dragging her away from the campsite so soon after the explosion, both of them dirty, covered in dust, her injury left to fester. Maureen had assured him that she was okay, no infection, no reason to be concerned. He looked away. Something else to make him feel bad, as if he didn’t feel bad enough.

He felt uncomfortable amongst the awkward silence, knowing he was the reason for it, everyone else too afraid to say anything in front of him, their bodies stiff with tension. Even Smith was keeping his mouth shut. 

As much as he hated to do it, not wanting a conversation, he forced himself to say something . . . 

“Do you think we’ll be able to fix the drill?”

Judy squeezed his hand, encouraging him.

John, surprised by the question, looked up, gaze settling on Don, “We brought enough spare parts and a second drill. We should be fine.”

Don nodded, fighting himself, wanting to return to silence, but there was something else. He should have said it earlier. He needed to say it now. 

Gaze down, unwilling to look at John, Don said, “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have . . . I’m sorry.”

“Children,” said John. “Could you leave the table please?”

He had made a mistake, his apology giving John an opportunity. Don closed his eyes, berating his own stupidity. He had wanted to delay the inevitable, keep John and Maureen at arm’s length. Don shifted in his seat, pushing himself up onto his feet, standing, ready to walk away from the table, the questions he knew were coming.

“Don,” said Maureen. “Please. Stay.”

Keeping his head down, he couldn’t look at her, couldn’t refuse her. He nodded, not wanting to voice his agreement to stay, sitting back down. 

Will stood first, his voice silent, walking away. He stopped and turned back when Judy spoke to him, “Will, I think you should bunk with Doctor Smith.”

The boy looked at Don, disappointment written all over his face.

John looked at Will, “I think it would be best, son.”

Will nodded and walked away.

Penny stood up, glancing toward her parents, before moving around the table, toward Don, standing next to him. Don lifted his head, leaning back in surprise. He saw Penny hesitate, his reaction to her abrupt closeness causing her to second-guess herself. It only took her a moment before she came to a decision. 

She leant down, wrapping her arms around Don, whispering words into his ear, “I hope you feel better soon, Don. We all miss you.”

She broke his heart, her innocence crushing his soul. He couldn’t do this. She let him go, running away from the table. He watched her. Penny’s shoulders were hunched, a hand covered her mouth. She was crying . . . again. 

“Doctor Smith,” said John. “Please leave.”

“I am not one of the children,” said Smith, snatching a piece of food from his plate, stuffing it into his mouth.

John snapped, “You’re lucky you are still a part of this expedition, Doctor Smith. Go. Now.”

Doctor Smith didn’t argue, knowing better than to anger John Robinson. He stood up, and taking his plate of food with him, he stomped off and out of sight, ordering the Robot to follow him.

Left alone, Maureen stood up, mirroring Penny’s actions she moved around the table to Don, bringing a chair with her. She placed the chair next to him; too close to him. Sitting down, she took his free hand, wrapping it within her grasp. Don wasn’t sure what he should do: run or stay. He still couldn’t look at her, his head turned away. He felt her gentle grip on his chin, turning his head, her gaze searching his face, his eyes.

Her question shocked him; she had read him too well, much like her daughter, “Don. What's gotten you so upset? Did we do something? Say something?”

He couldn’t speak, not straight away, his hesitation causing more worry, “No. You haven’t done anything.”

“Then tell me,” said Maureen. “Please tell us what’s wrong.”

Shaking his head, Don whispered, “I can’t do this. Not now.”

John spoke up, “We can’t help you if don’t tell us what’s wrong.”

“You can’t help me,” said Don.

“But Judy can?” said Maureen. 

Don nodded, unwilling to say more. He felt Judy squeeze his hand.

“I don’t think so,” said John.

Judy turned to look at her father, “What are you saying, dad?”

John stood up, changing his position at the table, sitting opposite Don, “Judy’s smart, caring and Maureen and I know she would give her life for you. Just as you would give yours for her. But if she were able to help you, she would have by now.”

“She’s helped more than you can imagine,” said Don. “She is helping. More than she could understand.”

Knowing that he’d already said too much, Don looked away. He could feel his muscles, cramped with tension, his body sore, exhausted beyond repair. The darkness within him grew more painful, his chest aching. He felt the lump rise into his throat, making speech difficult.

“I can’t do this.”

“Don.”

Judy’s voice caught his attention. He looked at her, her eyes full of tears. 

“What if he’s right? If my help isn't enough. If I can’t . . .”

If I can’t save you.

Don leaned back in his chair. Pulling his hand from Maureen’s grip, he covered his eyes with trembling hands. He wasn’t ready for this. He couldn’t tell them but maybe Judy could. She could speak for him. He had told her everything, no more secrets kept. He was scared. Scared of what they would think, of what they would do. He felt arms wrap around him, embracing him, pulling him into a hug that was warm and welcoming. It wasn’t Judy. She sat on his other side. Maureen. And that made it so much worse.

He didn’t want to cry, not in front of her, in front of John but he had held the tears at bay for far too long, their need for escape too strong. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He let go, his emotions attempting to drown him, Maureen keeping him afloat with words spoken softly, her comfort pulling his emotions out of hiding. 

Judy, voice choked with emotion began to speak. She told her parents everything. The darkness invading Don’s soul, his will to live almost gone. His inability to sleep. His lack of motivation. His need for solitude. She told them of his grandfather’s illness, of his death. She spoke of Don’s fears. Her fear of losing him to a darkness that wasn’t willing to let him go.

“We need to tell the children,” said John.

No. 

Don pulled away, wiping his damp face with his sleeve, “You can’t tell them.”

“Is that necessary, John,” said Maureen.

He nodded, “I think Penny already knows.”

Judy agreed looking at Don, “She must have heard us talking earlier.”

“Penny?” said Don, tilting his head back, his world disappearing beneath him. “I can’t . . .”

“You can,” said Maureen, reaching for him, taking his hand. “With our help.”

He pulled his hand away, angry and frustrated. He had succumbed to them, allowing Judy to tell them his secret but he didn’t want the children to know. How could he face them knowing that they knew. They would think him weak. They would fear him, unwilling to approach him. Then he remembered. Penny’s hug, her whispered words. She knew, her knowledge gained by accident. She had understood. He wasn’t so sure about Will, he was too young, his young mind thinking a joke would cure all ills. But if Will found out they hadn’t told him, everyone included except him and . . . a sudden thought smacked him in the face.

“Okay,” said Don. “But I draw the line at Smith.”

John smiled, “We have no intention of telling Smith.”

Maureen leaned forward, close to Don, taking his hand once more, “Is there a reason you’re feeling depressed? Did something happen to cause it?”

“I don’t know why,” said Don, shaking his head.

“Depression can be hereditary,” said John. “A chemical imbalance. It can appear at any time of life. Our main problem is a solution. We don’t have a psychiatrist available or medication.”

“Then what can we do,” said Judy.

“You, young lady, can continue what you’ve been doing,” said Maureen. “Keep him close.”

Judy smiled, “Then you won’t mind if I sleep in Don’s tent.”

“Under the circumstances,” said John. “No, we don’t mind and in the meantime, we’ll try and figure something out. There must be something we can do for you, Don. Something that will make you feel better.”

“You’re not going to lock me in a padded cell,” said Don.

John shook his head, “Judy knows you better than we do. She’ll know if you’re stepping over the edge and we’ll do everything we can to pull you back. Don, you need to stop fighting it. Keeping it to yourself hasn’t been helping. If you don’t want to talk to Maureen and I, talk to Judy. Tell her everything. If you think you’re going to take that final step, tell her. Promise me, you will tell her.”

He hesitated, not sure if he could keep that promise.

“Don?”

Don turned to face her, the expression on her face telling him she was more afraid than he was, “I promise.”

“Now,” said Maureen. “You need to sleep. I have something in the First Aid kit that will help.”

“Thank you,” said Don.

“You’re family, Don,” said Maureen, placing a hand on his shoulder as she stood up. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be a part of our family.”

Don watched her walk away, heading toward the Chariot. He could feel the tears brewing, Maureen’s ability to understand and comfort moving him, drawing his emotions to the surface once more. 

“Don’t fight it, Don,” said John.

Giving up the fight, Don found solace within Judy’s embrace.

.  
.  
.

She lay next to him, watching him, studying his face. Like a ghost, Judy’s fingers stroked over his features, not wanting to touch too afraid she would wake him. She lowered her gaze, watching his chest rise and fall, his slumber calm, restful. Judy was grateful, Don finally able to rest. He had fallen asleep with ease, the sleeping pill taking him quickly. Something as simple as sleep had been so hard for him, his body unwilling to rest. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be, but she saw enough to understand.

His body shifted and his breathing hitched, his eyes moving beneath closed lids. He was dreaming. Fine lines appeared on his forehead, the frown telling Judy his dreams weren’t pleasant. She wanted to take him in her arms, hold him close and calm his thoughts and his emotions. She wanted to hold on and never let him go.

Her heart clenched with fear. If he repeated his grandfather’s actions, she would lose him. The thought of living her life without him . . . it was something she didn’t want to do. Couldn’t do.

Wouldn’t do.

Willing to fight for him, for his soul, she would do anything and everything.


	3. Chapter 3

Don and Judy were alone at the drill site, John and Will staying back at the camp, a family meeting required. Don didn’t want to be there, making his excuses, explaining his fears, worried about how Will would react to his . . . affliction. Penny, older than Will, had understood but he wasn’t sure about Will. As mature as Will was, he was still young, sometimes reacting, speaking abruptly before he thought things through.

Glancing around the site, Don sighed. Ahead of him was another exhausting day, his body not ready for the physical labour, his mind not willing to continue the fight for his soul. No longer a need to hide his emotions, Don allowed the darkness more control; his voice silent, his movements lethargic. He was still tired, even after a full night’s sleep, rising too early, Judy waking with him, staying by his side. Even now, she was close, comfortably close. 

Don glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze finding hers. She smiled, stepping closer to him, her hand reaching for him, their fingers touching. Contact made, assurances given, he continued with his work. They walked around the drill site, Don mentally cataloguing the destruction left behind by Smith’s carelessness. 

After a few minutes, he stopped his movements, standing still, the early morning heat bearing down on him. So much destruction, he wasn’t sure a few spare parts and a second drill could repair the damage. Running his hands through his hair in frustration, Don took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, lungs deliberately taking their time. He could feel the sweat on his forehead, the weight of the heat on his back. This was too much. He wanted to find that dark corner, its location almost within reach, to hide away from responsibility.

“Don,” said Judy, stopping beside him.

“I don’t know if I can fix it.”

“If you can’t, dad will understand.”

He had misjudged John, thinking the man wouldn’t understand his situation, his emotions. John wanted to help, to find a solution that would solve all of Don’s emotional problems. Don knew it wasn’t that simple, the answers beyond John’s reach. Maureen had reacted more like a mother than a friend, her reaction confusing him. Don didn’t consider himself a part of the family, keeping himself separate. A friendship had grown between them, nothing more required . . . until now. Maybe family is what he needed, what he had been missing. Perhaps he had opened himself up to the darkness, sending it an invitation it had welcomed with opened arms, embracing him, choking him beneath a shroud of depression, the emotion becoming stronger with each passing day, with each passing moment, his will to fight weakening beneath the onslaught. 

Judy took his hand, pulling him from his thoughts, “Don, talk to me. Please don’t keep it to yourself.”

Don turned toward her, taking her in his arms. He couldn’t tell her. He had made a promise to her, to her father and if they learnt, he was considering breaking that promise . . . they would do what they thought necessary to keep him in a world full of pain. But if he did make the conscious decision to take his own life, nothing they could do or say would stop him.

He told her a different truth, hiding the lie, “I don’t want to do it, Judy. The thought of so much work.”

“You don’t have to do it, Don,” said Judy. “You don’t have to hide anymore. Dad will understand.”

He considered it, so much easier to find a place to hide, a place where he could stay still, silent, Judy his only companion but he shook his head. Guilt, a strong emotion could only make him feel worse, sending him closer to the end of the road his grandfather had taken before him.

“I don’t really have a choice, Judy. There's too much work to do. I can’t just leave it for John and Will.”

“Doctor Smith and the Robot can help.”

Don laughed, surprised by his own reaction, “Smith? No. He’ll just make more work for the rest of us.”

He noticed Judy watching him, staring at him, a smile creeping onto her beautiful features. Confused, he frowned down at her, “What?”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in weeks,” said Judy, reaching up, fingers of her right hand brushing across his lips. “Does that mean you’re feeling better?”

He took her hand, pulling it down to his side, keeping it there, “No, if anything, I think I feel worse.”

She nodded, “Remember. Talk to me. Tell me everything.”

He looked away, gaze drifting, finding John Robinson. John, Will and the Robot walked toward the camp, arms full of equipment, spare parts and the second drill. Behind them . . . Penny and Maureen. Penny carried a small picnic basket and her face carried an expression of sadness and understanding. 

Don narrowed his eyes, a deep frown appearing on his forehead, his confusion there for everyone to see. And then it hit him, the realisation taking the last of his strength; they were going to cradle him in cotton wool and take care of his every need. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be crowded, suffocated by their kindness. Don turned away, pulling himself out of Judy’s embrace. Tilting his head back, he gazed upward. He raised his hands, wiping them across his face in anger and frustration. The darkness squeezed his chest, the ache growing. He couldn’t do this, not with everyone watching his every movement, his every emotion. He felt the sudden urge to go back into hiding, regretting the exposure of his secret. He wanted to yell at them, tell them to go away and leave him the hell alone. 

“Don?”

It was Penny. Why were they making it so hard for him . . . he took a deep breath, his body shaking with emotion. Releasing the breath, his chest hurting with the effort, Don turned around. The look on her face . . . he couldn’t refuse her. But he couldn’t speak, afraid his emotions would get the better of him.

“You didn’t eat breakfast,” said Penny. “I thought I’d bring you something, in case you got hungry.”

Looking down at the basket, he took a moment, gathering his strength, “Thank you.”

Penny dropped the basket and wrapped her arms around him, now tall enough for her head to rest against his chest. He could feel her rapid breaths. Hoping she wasn’t going to cry again, he returned her embrace, whispering words that he hoped would reassure her. He found Maureen and John watching him, their expressions telling him they were grateful he hadn’t pushed Penny away, emotionally or physically. Not wanting to but unable to stop himself, he found Will. 

Will was unpacking the equipment, his back to Don, his body language the only explanation Don needed. Will hadn’t understood, not like his sister, his parents . . . Judy. Don wasn’t angry, understanding that Will was too young.

Penny let go, stepping back, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I want to help.”

Don smiled, no real emotion behind the expression, “You understand, Penny. That helps.”

Returning the smile, Penny nodded and walked away, heading back toward the camp. One less person to worry about, Don turned toward Maureen who had stepped forward, taking Penny’s place. Maureen hugged him, the embrace quick but full of emotion. 

“If you need anything,” said Maureen. “Please, let me know.”

He nodded as he watched her retrace her steps, catching up with Penny before they disappeared from sight. His gaze hovered before shifting back to Will. The boy still had his back to Don, keeping himself busy, fussing over the spare parts. 

Don turned back to Judy, noticing the unshed tears, “I better get started. Before your dad decides I’m in need of another hug.”

Judy laughed, “What about me?”

“I want to hold you and never let go,” said Don, embracing her, holding her close. “But I have to help fix the drill.”

“Tonight?”

It was an offer he couldn’t refuse. Something to get him through the day. A genuine smile appeared, “What would your parents think?”

“I trust my daughter,” said John. “But you . . .”

Don’s body jerked in surprise. Stepping away from Judy, he turned to face her father’s wrath but John was smiling, his eyes bright with amusement. Don relaxed, the tension he felt leaving his body.

“Feeling better?” said John.

“No, but not having to hide how I feel . . . it helps.”

“Have you been hiding long?”

Looking away, Don’s mind wandered, reaching back to the moment he realised something wasn’t right. He had felt fine, no different but over a matter of seconds, his mood had shifted, falling far enough for him to take notice. Since that day, he’d fallen even further, stumbling and fighting all the way, finding himself in hole so dark, so deep . . .

“Don?”

Not able to answer, Don nodded.

“How’s Will,” said Judy.

“He didn’t take it well.”

“What?” said Don, gaze returning to John.

“He’s worried, scared and upset.”

“Why?”

“He’s worried that you’re going to hurt yourself,” said John. “He’s scared that you’re going to hurt yourself and he’s upset because he thinks you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Don’t hold back,” said Don. “Tell me what he really thinks.”

John laughed and shook his head, “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were feeling better.”

Looking back over his shoulder, Don could see that Will was still keeping himself busy, but now he knew why. He didn’t want to face Don, no doubt afraid of his own emotions. He didn’t want to but he couldn’t let the kid keep thinking . . . he had to talk to Will, assure him that he wasn’t going to hurt himself. It would be a lie, Don’s only thought . . . he wanted to rid his body of the pain, the darkness and he could think of only one way to do that . . . 

“I should go and talk to him.”

“He understands, Don,” said John. “He’s scared of what you might do. We all are.”

Without looking back, his response kept to himself, Don walked away, toward Will, stopping when he reached the boy’s side. He watched as Will became tense, Will now aware that Don was standing so close to him. Will stood up and turned his head, damp eyes finding Don’s gaze. Will rubbed his eyes, refusing to let the tears fall.

“I’m not crying,” said Will. “That’s a girl thing.”

Don put a hand on Will’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, “It’s okay, Will. I did a lot of it last night. Crying is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You cried?”

“Like a baby,” said Don. “And in your mother’s arms.”

“Why are you so sad?”

Don shook his head, “I have no idea.”

“Dad said a joke wouldn’t help.”

Letting his hand fall to his side, Don said, “No, it wouldn’t. Doesn’t mean you can’t try.”

He regretted the words. If Will took it upon himself to try to heal Don with jokes . . . he wouldn’t cope, eventually snapping at the boy, telling him to stop.

“No, that’s okay,” said Will, his face freezing in shock. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want to help. It’s just that if you say it won’t work, I’m not going to try. Somehow, I think it would only make things worse.”

Why had he thought this kid wouldn’t understand? Mature beyond his years, Will understood something that many adults couldn’t. Don looked somewhere else, his own eyes glistening with moisture. Gaze travelling the area, he found the robot but no Doctor Smith.

“Where’s Smith?”

Will smiled, “Mom told him that he wasn’t looking too well and suggested he stayed back at camp.”

“Your mother is a smart woman,” said Don, ruffling the boy’s red hair. “She did remember to hide the food . . . didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” said Will, becoming serious once more. “Don? Are you going to hurt yourself?”

He couldn’t lie to Will, the boy’s face full of concern and curiosity.

“I don’t know, Will. I really don’t know.”

Will nodded, accepting the truth. “Dad said you made a promise to tell Judy if you did decide to do something.”

Don closed his eyes, his mind drifting. Was he willing to try to keep his promise? Could he suffer through the continuing darkness, through a pain so deep, so strong just to keep the others happy? He opened his eyes and turned his head, looking over his shoulder. Judy stood beside her father, watching Don, an expression of hope on her features. Did he want to suffer just to make her happy? Was the effort of fighting the inevitable worth it? 

Thought of the pain ending gave him hope, a sense of healing. At the moment, feeling nothing would better than feeling something.

“Don?”

“I’ll do everything I can to keep that promise.”

“If you can’t?”

“Your sister knows me well enough to know if I’m going to do something stupid. She’ll stop me.”

“It wouldn’t be stupid, Don.”

No, thought Don, just selfish.

“Why don’t we get back to work,” said Don, turning away before he shed more tears. “Otherwise your dad is going to start referring to me as Doctor Smith.”

Will smiled, picked up a piece of equipment and moved toward the drill and his father. 

Don watched him go; at least he’d been able to make everyone else feel better.

.  
.  
.

The day wore on, the hours slow, the work hard. The heat was unforgiving, draining strength, irritating emotions. Voices lacking, words not required, they moved slowly around the site, their movements lethargic. Progress was eventually made, the drill coming together, almost ready for testing.

Don struggled to keep going, body exhausted, his chest aching, the darkness heavy, weighing him down. He fought to keep control, his mind wanting nothing but solitude, the closeness of the others sending him too close to breaking. Concentrating on what he was doing, Don tried to separate himself from his emotions, the Robinsons . . . their kindness. He couldn’t do it, the dark thoughts intruding.

Too tired to fight the inevitable, he wanted to be alone, without Judy. He wanted to give himself the opportunity to feel, give himself time to think, to come to a final decision. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He didn’t want to fight it. Don began to think of his grandfather’s death, how the man had taken his own life. He didn’t know all the details, only that it had involved a gunshot to the head. Not having a gun, and unsure of how a laser gun would do the trick, he would have to think of something else. Don knew of other ways, most of them involving a lot of alcohol to induce courage, to numb the pain. 

The hardest part . . . escaping Judy’s custody. He knew she would be angry, a possibility of hatred but . . . would she feel guilty, thinking that she hadn’t done enough. Judy would understand, he was sure of it, if not she had her family to help her through her emotions. She would move on, live a life without him. She would be better off without him.

He sighed, breath quickly released from his lungs. Stopping what he was doing, Don took a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He looked to his left, finding John staring at him, watching him. Don was sure the man was waiting for something inside Don to snap. Knowing it wouldn’t be a long wait, Don sure that he was going to snap at any moment.

“Need a break?” said John.

“No,” said Don, returning to his work, swearing when the tool slipped from sweaty fingers into the drill hole. He turned away from the drill, growling in frustration and anger. Walking toward the toolbox, Don leant over and picked up a clean rag. He wiped the sweat from his face, the dirt from his hands . . . 

Don felt it moments before it happened, his mind finally reaching breaking point. He snapped, the emotions too much, the constant surveillance of the others grinding his nerves down to a sharp raw edge, pushing him over the threshold and into a cavity full of anger. 

Throwing the rag at the toolbox, Don struck out with his right foot, kicking the box of tools. Heavy with contents, the box refused to respond, holding its position, staying passive. It wasn’t enough. Alone in his own world of emotions, ignoring those around him, Don kicked the toolbox a second time, and then a third, taking his anger and frustration out on the object in front of him, only stopping when he ran out of strength. Adrenaline draining from his limbs, he stood with his hands on his hips and his head hung low, his chest heaving with physical exertion, dragging air back into struggling lungs. He could feel the sweat on his skin, the tension in the air. In his peripheral, he could see Judy moving toward him, tears in her eyes.

He couldn’t face her. Not now.

Raising his hand, Don said, “Don’t.”

Judy hesitated, taking a small step toward him, and then another, pushing against the boundary that separated them.

“Don’t,” said Don, angry that he had to repeat himself.

Don walked away, the dark corner in his mind was within his sight but he didn’t move toward it, knowing that the Robinsons would follow him into it and an attempt would be made to drag him back out. He searched for a temporary place of solace. Walking toward a rock huddled in the shade of an outcropping he sat down, drawing his legs toward his chest. Elbows on his knees, Don covered his face and his emotions with his hands. His heart pounded against his ribs, the pain pulling him inward. His chest ached with the depression that had taken its final step in making its claim on his mind and soul. He couldn’t do it now, not with the others watching. Tonight, when Judy was asleep, he would leave and find somewhere secluded where he could end the pain, where he could finally stop feeling.

The air shifted beside him. Don could feel someone was close, too close. He hoped with all his heart that it wasn’t Judy. If he looked into those blue eyes . . . he was going to betray her and Judy, who knew him better than he knew himself, would see his intention . . . she would see his decision. No, he couldn’t look at her, not now . . . never again.

A hand on his shoulder as someone sat down next to him, against him; a physical touch Don didn’t want, an emotional presence he didn’t need but he couldn’t move away . . . he knew who was sitting with him; the frame small, the limbs thin . . . Will. 

“It’s okay, Don,” said Will, wrapping his arms around Don. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay.

“Don?”

He could hear her fear, her tears. Shaking his head, he withdrew even further into himself, pulling his knees closer, pressing his fingers against skin, the tips digging into his flesh. Time continued on, each minute more difficult than the last, each moment reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Will held on tight, his breath hot against Don’s skin. As much as he wanted to, Don didn’t have the strength to pull away from the kid. His heartbeat slowed, less painful, but the ache was still there, still strong. Tears filled his eyes, the salt water escaping from closed lids. 

If he was honest, with himself, with Will . . . it was hard to show such a vulnerable emotion in front of them, especially Will and Penny. He had to be strong for both of them; if they saw the worst in him . . . any hope they had taken from them, leaving them with their own emotional wounds. He almost laughed . . . Will had just seen the worst in Don: the anger, the hurt, the solitude, the depression. And Will’s response; comfort the man who couldn’t comfort himself.

Don took a shuddering breath, forcing the tears to stop. 

He knew he couldn’t stay like this. He had to continue the charade, keep going until he found an opportunity to leave . . . to take himself away and never come back. Taking another deep breath, Don lowered his hands, revealing his emotions to those around him. He stood up, pulling himself out from Will’s embrace, the boy’s arms falling away.

Judy and John stood close by, watching him . . . waiting for him.

Walking past them, Don felt an apology form on his lips but he quickly shut it down. In no mood to talk, he stepped up to the drill and switched it on, his gaze searching for faults in its construction. Everything seemed fine . . . everything in working order.

Don turned back toward John and said, “It’s working fine.”

John nodded and moved in close to Don, his eyes narrowed, his expression suspicious, “Are you okay?”

Don didn’t respond, hoping that John would leave it alone, leave him alone but the man was stubborn, willing to wait and wait he did. Standing still, his arms folded across his chest, John waited with the patience of a Saint.

Don glanced at John, snapping his gaze away. He had to say something, “I lost it. I’m okay now. It won’t happen again.”

“Don . . . “

He turned toward John, gaze catching Judy’s form and Will who was now standing beside his sister, his eyes wide. Gaze shifting, mind concentrating on the man before him, Don said, “I’m sorry, John. I don’t know what happened. I just snapped.”

John reached out, resting a hand on Don’s shoulder, allowing his hand to fall when Don pulled away, “I understand, Don--”

Don laughed, “You understand. Yeah, I’m sure you know exactly how I’m feeling, Professor.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I can’t begin to understand how you feel, but I can see what it’s doing to you, what it’s doing to us seeing you like this.”

Shaking his head, Don said, “I’m done.”

John nodded and walked away. Don watched him go but his body tensed up with fear when John stopped next to Judy, John’s voice so low, Don couldn’t hear the words spoken but he had an idea. Judy nodded before returning her gaze toward Don. She moved forward, her steps hesitant.

Don turned away from her.

He had to shut her out. If he didn’t . . . he had to shut her out. 

He had to shut them all out.

Judy continued to move forward, stopping when she reached Don’s side. She reached for his hand, gripping it gently. Tears filled her eyes when he pulled away, moving to the other side of the drill, standing with his back to her, shutting her out. She looked back over her shoulder, her father nodding to her, indicating that she should continue. Judy stepped around the drill, careful of the working components.

“Don? Talk to me, please.”

Shaking his head, Don walked away, from the drill site, from Judy, her family and headed back to the camp, toward the solitude of his tent. He no longer cared if he hurt Judy, her family . . . it didn’t matter anymore. He’d made his decision and nothing they could say or do would stop him. He was going to rid himself of the pain, it was only a matter of time now, the right moment would come and he would take himself away from everything.

.  
.  
.

Unable to explain why, Maureen moved to the edge of the campsite, her concern for their pilot growing beyond a simple case of anxiety. Her fear was now out of control, her limbs trembling with the emotion, her sixth sense telling her something had gone horribly wrong. Hands clenched in front of her, Maureen waited for answers, her gaze searching.

Stomach tight with fear, she watched as Don appeared in the distance, his quick steps bringing him closer. Her family followed close behind, expressions of concern on their features. The Robot moved silently with them, arms by its side, voice of warning silent. Releasing her breath, the knot of anxiety in her stomach unravelling, Maureen stepped forward.

She frowned, the worry growing once more. Don’s face was dark with an expression she couldn’t read, his limbs tense as he moved toward her. When she realised he was going to walk straight past her, she stepped into his path, blocking his way. As he moved to step around her, Maureen quickly positioned herself in front of him. He stopped, head down, gaze hidden.

“Don?” said Maureen, reaching up with her left hand, cupping the side of his face, an attempt to illustrate her concern. “What’s happened?”

His gaze lifted; his eyes empty of emotion as he returned her stare. She could do nothing when he pulled her hand from his face, his grip tight around her wrist, almost painful, letting go before he walked away. Turning, Maureen watched as Don moved toward his tent, his shoulders tight with purpose. Her stomach dropped, the sudden nausea shifting her balance. She knew it in her heart and soul, Don West had past the point of no return.

Feeling a hand at her elbow, Maureen turned to face her husband, “What happened?”

Shaking his head, his shoulders slumped, John said, “I think we’ve lost him.”

Maureen looked at Judy, saw the tears in her daughter’s eyes, “No, we’re not giving up on him.”

“I didn’t say that we had, Maureen,” said John. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to change his mind. I don’t know what to say to him.”

“We’ll keep him close. Watch him always.”

Judy stepped forward, her voice a harsh whisper, her cheeks damp with tears shed, “He won’t talk to me, mother. I’m sure he’s not going to keep his promise.”

Maureen nodded, “He’s made his decision. I know it in my heart. We have to keep him with us.”

“We’ll do everything we can,” said John. “We can stop him physically, stop him with force if necessary but it’s his emotional state . . . I don’t know how to help him.”

“We’ll think of something,” said Maureen, glancing back toward Don’s tent. “We can’t lose him. He means too much . . . he’s family, John.”

John turned toward his daughter, “Go to him, Judy. Stay with him. I’ll keep watch out here. If he tries anything . . . we’ll stop him.”

Judy smiled, the expression weakened by fear and walked away. Pushing aside the tent opening, she hesitated before disappearing inside, closing the tent behind her.

“John . . .”

John shook his head, a subtle movement before turning toward his son, “Will, go find your sister.”

Will refused to move, stance confident, eyes heavy with assurance, “Don won’t do it. He wouldn’t do that to us. I know he wouldn’t.”

“Will,” said John, kneeling down, body language telling his youngest to move closer. He placed his hands on his son’s shoulders, looking him in the eye, trusting his son to understand something that was beyond his years. “I’m not so sure about that anymore, son, but we’ll do everything we can to help him.”

Will nodded, his confidence slipping away, “Can I talk to him? Maybe I can help.”

“He doesn’t want to talk right now,” said John, standing up, pushing Will toward the other side of the camp. “Go and find Penny. She needs to know what’s happened.”

“She’s going to cry again,” said Will, walking away.

“John,” said Maureen, her own eyes filling with tears. 

John turned around, pulling his wife into a comforting embrace, “We’ll do everything we can to stop him.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then we’ll deal with Don’s actions as a family.”

Maureen closed her eyes, unsatisfied with her husband’s answer. If they lost Don . . . losing him in the line of duty was one thing, but if he took his own life . . . she was sure his death would create a hurt so deep, leaving her family vulnerable to feelings of guilt, anger . . . hatred. Would they mourn his death? Would they miss his personality, his humour or would they learn to hate him for what he had done to them? Swallowing the need to cry, Maureen looked deep into her heart, searching for understanding. 

No. They weren’t going to lose the man who had become a welcomed member of their family. She would do everything in her power to protect Don, to protect her family from his intentions. 

.  
.  
.

Hours passed, Judy his only companion. Sleep refused to arrive, waiting on the sideline, kept at bay by a single thought. He had revealed too much, his emotions leading the others to a conclusion. They were aware of his intentions, he was sure of it. He had to be careful, find a way to change their minds. If they stayed too close . . . he had to reassure them that he wasn’t going to do anything, create enough distance to allow him to escape.

Don could feel Judy watching him, her body close. He could feel the tension in the air. He could feel her fear. He rolled over, coming to a rest on his left side, facing her. She smiled, her eyes questioning him, searching for answers. He was going to pull her in close, tell her everything was okay. It would be his biggest lie and later, when it was over, when Judy would have time to think about this moment, she would realise that he had lied to her, his promise broken. 

“Are you okay,” said Don, reaching out, taking Judy’s hand, entwining their fingers.

Her eyes widened with surprise, with gratitude, “Me? Don, how I feel isn’t important right now. It’s how you feel that matters.”

It was time . . . he took a deep breath and began the lie that he was sure would lead to his own destruction.

“I’m sorry about earlier, shutting you out the way I did.”

“It’s okay,” said Judy, shifting her body closer to him.

“I was angry. I was scared I would say something to hurt you.”

“Don, nothing you could say would hurt me. But shutting me out like that, it hurt more than you could imagine.”

Not wanting her to see his guilt, Don closed his eyes. He felt her touch, her fingers soft against his cheek. He waited a moment, unsure of himself until he felt the darkness in his chest, in his soul, the pain an ache so heavy, he had collapsed beneath it. He continued the lie, speaking words to make her feel better.

Opening his eyes, Don said, “It won’t happen again.”

“Don, I know this is hard for you. Harder than anything, you’ve ever faced but you don’t have to do this alone. We’re all here for you. We want to help you. All I ask of you is that you talk to us. To me.”

His words lost, Don could only nod.

Judy smiled, “Do you want something to help you sleep?”

Without knowing it, Judy had just given him the opportunity he needed.

He nodded in confirmation.

Judy stood up, making her way out of the tent.

“Judy . . .”

She stopped and turned to face him.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

Giving her time to move away from the tent, Don waited, asking himself if this was what he wanted. Thinking it couldn’t get any worse, the ache in his chest grew stronger, bringing tears to his eyes. He shut the emotion down, the thought of his death bringing him comfort. Pushing himself up onto unsteady limbs, Don began to move. He stepped out of the tent, gaze searching for Judy. He couldn’t see her. Grateful, Don turned, walking away from his tent.

“Don?”

John. 

He hadn’t expected this, making the incorrect assumption that Judy would be his only guard. She hadn’t left him alone because she had believed him; she left him alone because she knew someone else would be there to watch him, to stop him. He had underestimated her. 

Don couldn’t wait any longer. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, Don made a conscious decision. He turned around, facing John.

“You okay?” said John.

“Judy’s getting me another sleeping pill,” said Don, moving away, stepping closer to a workbench that had been set up when they first arrived.

“Still not sleeping?”

“I could say the same about you.”

Keeping his back to John, Don searched the table, finding something heavy, something adequate. He could hear John behind him, the distance between them becoming short. In his peripheral, Don could see Judy as she came to a stop, watching him. It was now or never. Don picked up the heavy wrench. Heard but not seen, the Robot began to shout a warning. Turning, raising his arm, Don swung his makeshift weapon, striking John behind the left ear.

He didn’t wait, not seeing John collapse, instead running away from everything he had known and loved, the depression driving him on, controlling his actions, his future. He could hear Judy’s voice calling his name.


	4. Chapter 4

Torn from her sleep, her daughter’s scream, the Robot’s warnings waking her in an instant, Maureen struggled to her feet, stumbling as she fought her way through the flap of material that was the tent’s door. Already dressed, ready for anything . . . ready in case Don . . . her frantic gaze searched for her daughter. Judy found, her daughter was running from the camp. Frowning, Maureen looked past her daughter’s silhouette and saw another figure disappearing into the darkness. Don. Oh, God . . . no. Her worst fear realized Maureen stepped forward. She hesitated, unsure what to do next. Time to think, she remembered . . .

John.

Rapid eye movements, she searched the immediate area for her husband. When she found him, her breath stuck in her throat, chest becoming tight with fear, nausea a heavy weight in her stomach. She ran toward John, her shoulders sagging with relief when he moved. Falling to her knees at his side, she gripped his shoulders, helping him to sit upright. Her eyes widened with shock at the sight of blood, a small rivulet running down his neck, disappearing beneath the turtleneck collar of his shirt.

“John?”

“He hit me,” said John, reaching up, tips of his fingers gently probing the injury behind his ear, fingers coming away wet with blood.

“Oh, John--”

“Mom!”

They turned together, Maureen’s arms around her husband’s shoulders. Will and Penny – still dressed – ran toward them, the robot following close. Arms still waving, the Robot’s voice continued its verbal warning. Doctor Smith, nowhere in sight, was obviously sleeping through the noise. Maureen was grateful, not wanting Doctor Smith to be aware of the emotional turmoil tearing through the camp’s inhabitants. They were about to lose one of their own and she wasn’t sure of Smith’s reaction toward the threat of a life almost lost.

“We have to go after him,” said John.

“What happened?” said Penny, her expression full of fear, a reminder that she was still young.

“Major West attacked Professor Robinson,” said the Robot, warnings now silent, arms still. 

Will shook his head, “Don wouldn’t do that.”

“The Robot’s right,” said John. “We have to find Don before he . . .”

“Judy went after him,” said Maureen, standing and helping her husband keep his balance as he rose to his full height.

“Judy won’t be able to stop him on her own. Words can’t help him, not now, not when he’s become so desperate.”

Maureen nodded in agreement, “What do you want us to do?”

“We’re all going to have to search for him,” said John, stepping away from his wife, testing his balance.

“All of us?”

“Yes. Everyone will take a radio. If you find him, radio me. I’ll be using the jet pack. I’ll be able to get to him quicker that way.”

“John,” said Maureen. “We can’t send Will and Penny. If Don . . . I won’t allow it.”

She couldn’t send her two youngest out there to search for a man who wanted to take his own life. If they found him alive, any attempt to stop him failing . . . . if they found him too late . . . it would destroy them, she was certain. Too young to recover from such a traumatic event, she didn’t want her children to become victims of suicide.

No. She wouldn’t do it.

Penny stepped closer, her shoulders straight, “I want to help Don.”

“Me too,” said Will, moving with his sister.

“I’d feel terrible if I just stayed here waiting,” said Penny, tears springing to her eyes. “If I just did nothing . . . I would never forgive myself.”

“Maureen,” said John, hands on her upper arms, turning her to face him. “I know you want to protect them, but we can’t. They’re old enough to understand. They’ve shown a maturity I would never have expected under the circumstances. We have to let them help. With all of us searching, we have a better chance of finding Don before it’s too late.”

She hesitated, about to say no but her thoughts drifted, finding and focusing on Don. He was out there alone . . . alone with his thoughts, his emotions . . . desperate to end his pain. Maureen looked at her children. Penny wore a look of determination, an expression of confidence. Will . . . she knew her son so well. If they ordered him to stay at the camp . . . it would do no good. Will would leave as soon as he had opportunity, going out on his own to search for a man Will considered a brother. She was so proud of them. Knowing her husband was right Maureen nodded. They had to find Don and they had to find him quickly.

“Right then,” said John. “Everyone grab a radio and flashlight. If you find him, don’t approach him, not unless you think . . . call me and I’ll come straight to you. The same goes for you Robot. Does everyone understand? Not just my orders but what could happen if we’re too late.”

No verbal response required Will and Penny grateful of the opportunity to help, nodded in agreement. Maureen watched as the children and the Robot moved away, hoping that she had done the right thing. Body trembling with fear and worry for Don, her family she turned to her husband. When John pulled her into a tight embrace, his body saying more than words could, Maureen returned the embrace, quickly stepping away and following her children. She gave a silent prayer that it wasn’t Will or Penny who found Don.

.  
.  
.

Moonlight showed him the way, Don doubling back, making his way back toward the camp, bypassing it and moving forward. He knew they would follow him . . . try and stop him. If he took the time, created a greater distance between them, make it difficult for them to find him . . . 

It felt like time had slowed; the inevitable taking too long to arrive, to become his present. Lungs struggling for breath, muscles weak with fatigue, Don finally found his weapon. A cliff stood before him, its edge sharp, straight, its length running at least a mile long.

Coming to a stop, Don paused, unsure. He stepped forward, finding the edge. Easing his upper body forward, keeping his knees bent, balance secure, Don looked over the edge. It was deep, the bottom so far below, a fall would kill. 

A fall . . . a running leap . . . would end his pain.

The ache in his chest grew so painful he doubled over with the pain. Hand gripping the material of his shirt, Don rubbed his chest. He fought to take in a breath, the effort harder than it should be. He realized he shouldn’t care, death welcomed. But this way, it would be slow . . .

Don stepped back, moving quickly, giving himself plenty of room. He took a long, deep breath, taking a moment to feel . . . to think. Is this what he wanted? His hearted pounded in his chest, the rhythmic beat adding to his pain.

This was the only way.

He closed his eyes.

Don took a single step forward, and then another, quickening his pace until he was running.

And then he stopped . . . a sudden change of heart. He skidded along the ground, sliding toward the edge, falling on his side. Fear leaped into his throat, choking him. Eyes still closed, he couldn’t see what was in front of him.

Life?

Or death?

All movement stopped. His lungs the only things moving, desperately pulling in air, an attempt to settle the fear ripping through his chest

Don opened his eyes, blinking until the tears dried. He’d come so close, his right leg hanging over the edge. With care, he pushed himself away from the edge, away from death. He felt confused; death wanted, why had he changed his mind? Why hadn’t he been able to go through with it?

If he tried it a second time . . .

Crawling backward, Don kept moving, not stopping until he felt safe. The thought struck; painful against his mind . . . he didn’t want to die. He laid back, body horizontal, chest heavy with pain and anxiety and gazed up at the stars. Only moments before, he had wanted to die, wanting the pain to end and now . . . He didn’t understand, confused thoughts continuing to tumble through his mind.

The reality of his situation . . . taking that step to end his life had made it all so real and he had balked, not wanting . . . he closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel. The ache was still there, still painful, still strong. His emotions hadn’t changed, only his desire for death was gone.

In the moment, he knew he wouldn’t do it again . . . but tomorrow . . . the day after . . . what if he changed his mind again. He didn’t want to wake up each morning wondering if it would be his last. But life was already like that, facing danger every day . . . No longer fighting the emotions, instead feeling them, allowing them to exist, Don realized he felt a little bit better. 

Another breath, his heart still beating, Don opened his eyes, turning his head when he heard footsteps.

Penny.

Guilt flowed through him, overwhelming him. If he had gone through with it . . . Penny . . . He closed his eyes, snapping them open when he saw Penny standing at the edge, looking over, seeing Don below, his body broken . . .

Her voice was a whisper full of fear, concern, “Don?”

“I couldn’t do it,” said Don, wanting to be honest.

Penny stepped closer, her movements hesitant. Taking a deep breath, she stopped next to him, looking down at him. Her expression calm, she said, “I’m supposed to radio dad when I found you.”

“Not now,” said Don. “Please. I’m not ready to--”

“They’ll be worried.”

“Don’t tell him where I am.”

It only took her a moment to tell John that she had found Don, that Don was okay. Her father’s angry response when she wouldn’t tell him their location brought tears to her eyes. Not wanting her to get into any trouble, Don conceded, telling her to do what her father asked. Don was surprised when Penny shook her head, instead sitting down, lying beside him. She took his hand, holding it, squeezing it in support.

“When you’re ready and not before,” said Penny.

“Thank you.”

Turning his head, Don looked back to the stars.

“When you said you couldn’t do it--”

“I tried but when it came down to it,” said Don. “I didn’t want to do it.”

“I want to understand.”

She was so much like her sister: caring, understanding, able to make him feel better with a few simple words. Unable to explain what he felt, how he felt, unsure of what to say, Don stayed silent. A memory nagged at him, something he knew he should remember. Searching through recent images, Don found the reminder.

“Is your father okay?”

“Yes,” said Penny, her voice trailing off before picking up again. “Did it hurt that much?”

“Yeah,” said Don. “It hurt that much. Still does. All I could think about was . . . I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I wanted it to stop so badly that I no longer cared if I hurt your family.”

“I’m sorry, Don.”

Don turned his head. If it weren’t for her voice, her face – so different from Judy and yet, just as beautiful – he would think he was talking to Judy, “What for?”

“I’m sorry we don’t know how to help you.”

“You’re helping now,” said Don, turning his head back, looking once more at the sky and its blanket of stars. 

“Do you think you’ll try again?”

“I think I hit rock bottom today, Penny. I think I’ve got nowhere else to go but up.”

“And if you fall again?”

“Hopefully someone will be there to catch me.”

“We’ll all be there,” said Penny. She turned her head to look at him, her gaze searching his face. “We all love you, Don. We love you unconditionally. You’re a part of our family and we don’t want to lose you.”

A different kind of hurt filled him. He felt wanted, loved . . . a part of the family.

“I’m sorry, Penny. I didn’t want to put any of you through this.”

“This isn’t your fault, Don. You can’t blame yourself for something you have no control over. I’m not going to ask you to promise you won’t do this again. I know now it’s a promise you might not be able to keep.”

“When did you grow up?” said Don, smiling.

“You have to grow up quick out here.”

“You and Will. You’re both mature beyond your years. I’m sorry you had to grow up so quickly, Penny.”

“That isn’t your fault either, Don,” said Penny. “Aren’t the stars beautiful?”

He felt tired, exhausted. He closed his eyes.

“Yeah . . . beautiful.”

He could feel sleep coming for him. Unable to fight it, he let it take him.

.  
.  
.

Don awoke in a cocoon of warmth, pins and needles pounding through his limbs. His body felt heavy, laden with exhaustion. He opened his eyes, afraid of what he would see. The sight of Judy, sitting beside him, an open book in her lap, brought him comfort. He watched her, his gaze grazing on her features. She was beautiful, inside and out and she loved him. Not someone else. Him.

“Judy.”

His voice cracked, his throat dry, his emotions pushing their way to the surface. He smiled when she jerked in surprise, dropping her book, losing her page. He was sure she wouldn’t care. The smile fell from his face when Judy glared back at him, her anger obvious.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” said Judy. “If you weren’t lying there looking so . . . so . . .”

The smile returned when she leant down. She took his face in her hands, palms on each cheek. She kissed him, her touch soft, tender, full of love . . . her lips against his eyelids, forehead . . . his lips. He could feel her tears on his skin. Feel her body tremble with emotion and fear.

“I’m sorry,” said Don. “I’m so sorry.”

Judy sat back, Don missing her touch. She lay down beside him, so close to him, fingers returning to his face, brushing his cheek, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was so scared when you ran off,” said Judy. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“You almost didn’t.”

Judy nodded, “Penny told us what happened. Instead of . . . you’ve taken a step back toward your family.”

“I feel better.”

“You look better.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Almost fourteen hours,” said Judy. “You were so exhausted you didn’t even wake up when Dad and the Robot brought you back to camp.”

Her words surprised him, “Are you sure he didn’t hit me when you weren’t looking?”

Judy laughed, “I’ve missed you.”

“I still hurt, Judy,” said Don. “Emotionally, I still feel much the same.”

“I know. It’s just . . .”

He frowned, “It’s just what?”

“There was darkness around you but now,” said Judy, shaking her head. “I can see some light amongst the darkness. It’s silly, I know. It’s just . . . you seem different. Better. I know you’re not hiding anymore.”

Don smiled, the expression stretching into a yawn.

“Not ready for visitors then?”

“Visitors?”

“Your family wants to see you,” said Judy. “Will’s outside waiting. Penny wants to sit with you. Dad wants to lecture you and mom wants to mother you.”

“Not all at once, I hope,” said Don, closing his eyes, shifting his body into a more comfortable position. “Is Penny okay?”

“Yes.”

“Your father was so angry with her when she wouldn’t tell him where I was.”

“He was worried and scared. About you and Penny.”

“When I think about . . . if I had gone through with it, it would have been Penny who found me.”

Feeling her touch on his lips, Don opened his eyes. She was so close to him, he could feel her breath against his skin, her comfort embracing him.

“Knowing what she might find, Penny still wanted to look for you,” said Judy. “Will too. You’re like a brother to them. You’re family, Don. Remember that.”

“Hard not to,” said Don, smiling, exhaustion pulling him back down.

“Go back to sleep, Don. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

The ache in his chest hadn’t diminished, its candle still burning but . . . a comforting thought overtook him . . . maybe . . . just maybe . . . he might be okay.

 

The End


End file.
